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UH.VKR81TY  OF  CAUFORN.A  AT  U»  AMO 


Stack 
Annex 


GOETHE'S  "FAUST," 


Stack 

Annex 


GOETHE'S  ''FAUST:  "  THE  PLAN  AND  PURPOSE 
OF  THE  COMPLETED  WORK.* 

BEING  a  giant  among  works  of  poetry,  Goethe's  "Faust" 
suffers  the  fate  of  almost  all  things  gigantic,  be  they  the  work 
of  nature  or  of  human  genius.  Many  men  of  note  have  ad- 
mitted that  the  first  impression  which  they  received  from  the 
reading  of  "Faust"  did  not  entirely  come  up  to  their  expec- 
tations. But  have  we  not  all  heard  of  similar  comments  on  St. 
Peter's  in  Rome,  on  Beethoven's  symphonies,  on  Raphael's 
Sistine  Madonna,  on  Mont  Blanc,  or  on  Niagara?  There 
are  objects  that  transcend  our  powers  of  immediate  compre- 
hension and  require  a  more  gradual  process  of  familiariza- 
tion. Besides,  it  is  a  well-established  fact  that  we  generally 
approach  such  objects  of  universal  admiration  with  unduly 
exaggerated  expectations.  As  the  best  music  demands  re- 
peated hearings  before  it  admits  us  to  an  intimate  apprecia- 
tion of  its  subtlest  charms,  so  also  must  the  greatest  works 
of  literature  be  read  again  and  again,  and  more  in  a  reveren- 
tial than  in  a  purely  critical  spirit,  before  they  reveal  to  us 
their  innermost  beauty  and  meaning.  But  whereas  a  work 
of  average,  or  even  more  than  average,  rank  may  hardly  sus- 

*This  paper,  as  its  form  and  tone  occasionally  show,  was  originally  pre- 
pared as  an  address,  and  as  such  was  first  delivered  in  November,  1898,  be- 
fore the  Old  Oak  Club,  of  Nashville,  Tenn.  All  learned  references  to 
critical  and  expository  Faust  literature  have  been  purposely  omitted,  and 
it  has  been  the  author's  chief  aim  to  set  forth  what  he  considers  to  be  the 
general  plan  and  purpose  of  the  poem  as  a  whole.  In  so  doing  he  has  had 
in  mind,  primarily,  that  vast  majority  of  thoughtful  and  competent  readers 
•who  have  to  confine  their  study  to  the  final  form  given  by  Goethe  to  his 
"Faust"  drama,  without  being  able  or  willing  to  trace  in  detail  the  various 
changes  of  plan  and  stages  of  execution  through  which  this  unique  work  of 
the  world's  literature  had  to  pass  before  appearing  "  in  vollendeter  Gestalt." 


4  Goethe's  "Faust" 

tain  our  interest  on  a  second  or  third  perusal,  the  truly  great 
work  will  become  the  more  attractive  the  more  we  grow  fa- 
miliar with  it.  Thus  it  is  with  Goethe's  "Faust." 

In  this  statement  the  great  majority  of  the  serious-minded 
readers  of  "Faust"  will  probably  concur,  even  if  with  cer- 
tain individual  modifications  and  reservations,  if  we  are  will- 
ing to  confine  what  has  been  said  to  the  First  Part.  If,  how- 
ever, you  are  not  prepared  to  admit  the  same,  or  nearly  the 
same,  for  the  Second  Part,  those  who  are  the  most  ardent  stu- 
dents of  "Faust"  will  tell  you  it  is  because  you  have  not  read 
it  often  enough.  This  much  is  true,  many  critics  of  sound 
taste  and  judgment,  especially  in  more  recent  years,  have 
claimed  that  the  long- maligned  Second  Part  of  Goethe's 
"Faust"  has  gradually  acquired  for  them  a  charm  and  sig- 
nificance not  only  equaling  but  even  surpassing  that  of  the 
First  Part,  which  all  admire.  As  for  myself,  I  have  not  ex- 
actly reached  this  point  yet,  and  hardly  know  whether  I  am 
traveling  on  any  very  direct  road  leading  to  it;  but  so  much 
is  sure:  careful  and  repeated  reading  has  filled  me  with  a 
growing  admiration,  not  to  say  a  growing  sense  of  awe,  of 
the  gigantic  sweep  and  vast  scope  of  the  poet's  plan  and 
purpose  in  the  Second  Part,  even  though,  in  mv  present  es- 
timation, the  artistic  execution  of  this  plan  is  often  unsatis- 
factory, perhaps  must  needs  be  unsatisfactory,  since  the  very 
design  seems  to  transcend  the  boundaries  of  dramatic  art,  if 
not  of  all  art. 

Goethe,  as  is  well  known,  was  but  a  youth  of  about  twenty 
years  when  the  legend  of  the  magician  Faust,  with  which  in 
his  childhood  he  had  become  familiar  through  the  chapbooks 
and  the  then  popular  puppet  plays,  began  to  interest  him  as 
a  promising  subject  for  poetic  treatment.  We  can  surmise 
that  the  earliest  scenes  were  committed  to  writing  about  the 
year  1773,  and  we  know  that  when  Goethe,  in  1775,  went  to 
Weimar,  he  took  with  him  a  manuscript  containing  the  great- 
er portion  of  the  so-called  First  Part.  Actually  begun,  then, 
at  the  age  of  about  twenty-four,  the  work  was  not  complet- 
ed till  seven  months  before  the  poet's  death,  at  the  age  of 
eighty-three.  It  will  be  shown  later  that  we  have  more  than 


Goethe's  "Faust."  5 

one  reason  to  regret  this  exceedingly  slow  process  of  devel- 
opment. On  the  other  hand,  we  should  not  overlook  the  fact 
that  the  long  years  which  elapsed  between  the  first  concep- 
tion and  the  final  completion  of  the  work  allowed  the  poet  to 
incorporate  in  it  the  best  experience  of  an  unusually  long  and 
wonderfully  rich  life.  The  impetuosity  of  exuberant  youth, 
the  self-centered  strength  of  mature  manhood,  the  resigned 
wisdom  of  old  age — all  have  combined  to  shape  Goethe's 
"Faust,"  which,  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word,  deserves 
to  be  called  the  poet's  life  work. 

But,  while  Goethe  worked  on  his  "Faust"  at  widely  differ- 
ent periods  of  his  life,  with  long  intervals  of  inactivity  in  be- 
tween, he  did  not  delay  the  publication  of  the  work  till  the 
time  of  its  final  completion.  Yielding  to  the  requests  of  in- 
terested friends  who  knew  of  his  treatment  of  the  subject,  he 
repeatedly  published  different  portions  of  it  in  a  more  or  less 
fragmentary  condition.  Thus,  in  1790,  briefly  after  his  re- 
turn from  Italy,  where  his  interest  in  the  "Faust"  had  been 
renewed,  he  published  "Faust,  Ein  Fragment."  Eighteen 
years  later,  in  1808,  the  First  Part  appeared  in  its  entirety. 
Then,  along  the  years  1827-28,  some  detached  portions  of 
the  Second  Part  were  published,  especially  the  so-called  Hele- 
na episode,  which  now  forms  the  third  act  of  the  Second 
Part.  The  complete  Second  Part  did  not  appear  in  print  till 
after  the  poet's  death. 

On  account  of  this  disrupted  mode  of  composition  and 
publication,  as  well  as  on  account  of  the  unmistakable  differ- 
ences in  tone  and  spirit  which  characterize  different  portions 
of  the  work,  it  has  been  commonly  assumed  that  the  drama 
as  a  whole,  however  sublime  in  thought  and  sentiment,  how- 
ever fascinating  and  powerful  in  its  individual  scenes,  lacks 
unity  of  plan  and  purpose.  Great  stress,  in  this  connection, 
has  again  and  again  been  laid  on  a  few  evident  incongruities 
that  are  found  in  the  narration  of  some  events  and  in  the  delin- 
eation of  one  ortwo  of  the  characters.  These,  however,  affect 
only  details,  without  touching  any  vital  point  in  the  poet's 
unity  of  purpose.  On  the  other  hand,  it  should  be  well  un- 
derstood that  if  I  am  inclined  to  claim  for  "Faust"  unity  of 


6  Goethe's  "Faust" 

plan,  I  do  not  claim  for  it  unity  of  action  in  the  technical 
sense  in  which  the  term  is  applied  to  the  drama.  There  can 
be  no  doubt  that  Goethe's  "Faust"  neither  is  nor  was  meant 
to  be  a  regular  drama,  but  rather  a  vast  epic  built  on  dra- 
matic lines. 

Instead  of  one  action  or  conflict,  which  is  gradually  inten- 
sified, reaches  a  climax,  and  then  speeds  on  to  its  final  ca- 
tastrophe, instead  of  one  such  action,  as  in  an  ordinary 
drama,  we  have  in  "Faust"  a  succession  of  apparently  dis- 
connected episodes,  of  which  at  least  two  (the  Gretchen 
tragedy  in  the  First  Part,  and  the  Helena  episode  in  the 
Second  Part)  attain  to  the  scope  and  importance  of  well- 
nigh  complete  dramas  within  the  drama.  With  the  exception 
of  Faust  and  Mephistopheles,  the  persons  figuring  in  one 
episode  rarely  reappear  in  another,  and  certainly  Faust 
and  Mephistopheles  are  the  only  characters  that  figure  in 
the  entire  drama  from  beginning  to  end.  It  might  thus 
appear  as  if  the  individuality  of  Faust  alone  was  form- 
ing the  connecting  link  between  the  various  episodes, 
between  which  there  would  thus  exist  not  an  artistically 
organic  connection,  but  merely  a  personal  or  biographical 
bond. 

Such,  however,  is  not  the  case.  All  of  the  episodes  are 
organic  parts  of  one  consistent  theme;  they  are  not 
loosely  connected  through  the  figure  of  Faust,  but  form 
consecutive  stages  in  the  development  of  a  higher  action  or 
conflict,  which  is  not,  and  cannot  be,  directly  represented 
on  the  stage,  but  which  embraces  all  the  various  episodes 
in  one  supreme  unity  of  purpose.  This  real  unity  of  the 
drama  is  found  in  the  conflict  between  God  and  Mephis- 
topheles for  the  possession  of  Faust's  soul.  That  is  to  say, 
the  question  which  the  drama  tries  to  solve,  and  to  which 
everything  in  it  is  made  subordinate,  is  the  question  whether 
the  forces  that  we  consider  antagonistic  to  the  divine  side 
of  human  nature  are  strong  enough  so  to  ensnare  a  soul  so 
richly  endowed  as  that  of  Faust  as  to  make  it  hopelessly 
forget  its  divine  calling  and  idealistic  cravings.  This  con- 
flict is  clearly  outlined  in  the  prologue  in  heaven,  where, 


Goethe's  "Faust."  7 

when  the  Lord  speaks  of  Faust  as  his  "servant,"  Mephis- 
topheles  sneeringly  replies: 

Forsooth  !   he  serves  you  after  strange  devices  : 
No  earthly  meat  or  drink  the  fool  suffices  : 
His  spirit's  ferment  far  aspireth  ; 
Half  conscious  of  his  frenzied,  crazed  unrest, 
The  fairest  stars  from  heaven  he  requireth, 
From  earth  the  highest  raptures  and  the  best, 
And  all  the  Near  and  Far  that  he'desireth 
Fails  to  subdue  the  tumult  of  his  breast. 

THE  LORD. 

Though  still  confused  his  service  unto  Me, 
I  soon  shall  lead  him  to  a  clearer  morning. 
Sees  not  the  gardener,  even  while  buds  his  tree, 
Both  flower  and  fruit  the  future  years  adorning? 

MEPHISTOPHELES. 

What  will  you  bet?      There's  still  a  chance  to  gain  him, 
If  unto  me  full  leave  you  give, 
Gently  upon  my  road  to  train  him ! 

THE  LORD. 

As  long  as  he  on  earth  shall  live, 

I  make  no  prohibition  ; 

While  Man's  desires  and  aspirations  stir, 

He  cannot  help  but  err.  * 

When,  thereupon,  Mephistopheles  expresses  his  confidence 
in  his  ultimate  victory,  he  is  interrupted  by  the  following 

words: 

THE  LORD. 

Enough !   What  thou  hast  asked  is  granted. 

Turn  off  this  spirit  from  his  fountain  head  ; 
To  trap  him,  let  thy  snares  be  planted, 

And  him,  with  thee,  be  downward  led ; 
Then  stand  abashed,  when  thou  art  forced  to  say, 

A  good  man,  through  obscurest  aspiration, 
Has  still  an  instinct  of  the  one  true  way. 

*The  quotations  are  from  Bayard  Taylor's  translation. 


8  Goethe's  "Faust" 

With  other  words,  Mephistopheles  is  promised  not  to  be 
interfered  with  in  his  plans  for  Faust's  spiritual  ruin,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  we  receive  the  indirect  assurance  that 
Faust,  though  he  will  not  be  preserved  from  error  and  sin, 
will  ultimately  remain  victorious. 

Thus  we  have  in  Faust  an  essentially  dramatic  conflict, 
only  with  this  marked  difference  from  the  ordinary  drama, 
that  the  conflict  is  a  spiritual  one,  and  that,  hence,  the  two 
antagonistic  powers  cannot  be  directly  represented  as  dra- 
matis -persona.  It  is  true,  the  anti-divine  principle  appears 
personified  in  the  figure  of  Mephistopheles,  one  of  the  most 
marvelous  creations  of  a  poet's  imagination,  utterly  fanciful 
and  yet  strikingly  realistic,  as  interesting  and  fascinating  as 
he  is  repellent  and  terrible.  The  divine  element,  however, 
the  poet  was  unable  to  represent  similarly.  It  appears  con- 
fined to  Faust's  own  soul,  as  the  voice  of  his  conscience,  his 
better  self. 

After  the  character  of  the  struggle  that  is  to  ensue  has  thus 
been  indicated,  the  drama  proper  begins.  The  first  scenes, 
answering  the  purpose  of  what  we  call  the  "exposition"  of 
a  drama,  acquaint  us  with  Faust's  character,  his  past  life, 
his  present  mood  and  surroundings.  Here  Faust  appears 
as  the  very  counterpart  of  Mephistopheles.  The  latter 
proves  himself  a  mocking,  unimpassioned  spirit,  of  no  mean 
intellectuality,  it  is  true,  but  without  a  trace  of  idealism,  a 
cold  pessimist  of  low  aims  and  unclean  motives.  Faust,  on 
the  other  hand,  is  the  heaven-daring  Promethean  idealist 
who  is  not  willing  to  admit  the  reality  of  the  intellectual  lim- 
itations inherent  in  man's  nature.  He  yearns  for  commun- 
ion with  the  spirit  world,  for  insight  into  the  most  secret 
fountains  and  subtlest  processes  of  nature  and  of  human 
life.  His  thirst  for  truth  and  experience  are  not  to  be 
quenched  by  the  knowledge  which  he  has  been  able  to 
gather  and  the  inadequacy  of  which  he  keenly  feels.  Nei- 
ther creed  and  dogma  on  the  one  hand  nor  the  results  of 
philosophy  and  science  on  the  other  have  satisfied  him.  He 
desires  to  fathom  the  universe,  to  know  and  to  experience 
all  things. 


Goethe's  " Faust."  9 

But,  in  considering  this  state  of  turmoil  in  Faust's  soul, 
we  must  not  overlook  the  fact  that  his  error  and  wayward- 
ness are  only  relative.  His  striving  after  light  and  truth  is 
indeed  service  of  the  deity,  for  it  cannot  be  found  or  served 
except  in  light  and  truth.  His  error  rather  consists  in  the 
fact  that  in  his  ideal  flights  he  not  only  forgets  the  serious 
limitations  to  which  human  nature  is  subject,  but  also  neg- 
lects and  scorns  the  manifold  duties  and  pleasures  resulting 
from  our  daily  intercourse  with  our  fellow-men — duties  and 
pleasures  which  must,  and  in  a  large  measure  can,  console 
us  for  so  many  yearnings  that  are  doomed  to  remain  unful- 
filled. Thus  Faust  appears  indeed  as  we  found  him  depict- 
ed in  the  Prologue  in  heaven,  a  ''servant  of  God,"  but  one 
whose  service  is  as  yet  confused  and  without  clearness  of 
vision,  and  \vho,  therefore,  has  not  yet  found  that  supreme 
peace  of  soul  that. to  Goethe  means  salvation. 

In  its  last  analysis,  the  conflict  between  Faust  and  Meph- 
istopheles  is  a  strictly  human  one.  Both  Faustian  and 
Mephistophelian  tendencies  we  all  find  in  our  own  natures. 
Like  Faust,  we  can  say  of  ourselves: 

Two  souls,  alas!  reside  within  this  breast, 
And  each  withdraws  from  and  repels  its  brother, 
One  with  tenacious  organs  holds  in  love 
And  clinging  lust  the  world  in  its  embraces; 
The  others  tronglj  sweeps,  this  dust  above, 
Into  the  high  ancestral  spaces. 

Be  it  humiliating  for  our  race  or  not,  the  fact  remains 
that  all  men  partake  more  or  less  of  that  coarser,  disenchant- 
ed, coldly  materialistic,  frivolous  nature  that  is  the  sphere 
of  Mephistopheles.  We  are  not  planned  as  being  of  angel- 
ic purity.  But  it  should  be  our  constant  endeavor  to  enno- 
ble and  purify  the  coarser  elements  within  us  by  means  of 
our  higher  instincts.  This  is  rarely  accomplished  without  a 
struggle,  and  this  struggle,  as  has  been  shown  above,  is  the 
principal  theme  of  Goethe's  "Faust." 

Let  us  then  proceed  to  a  brief  review  of  the  development 
of  this  dramatic  conflict. 

Mephistopheles,  we  must  imagine,  has  been  hovering 
1* 


io  Goethe's  "T^/ ttst." 

around  Faust  like  the  hawk  that  is  circling  around  the  prey 
which  it  has  spied  in  the  fields.  At  last,  when  the  opportu- 
nity seems  favorable,  he  gains  access  to  Faust's  company, 
succeeds  in  interesting  him  in  his  way  of  looking  at  life,  so 
diametrically  opposed  to  that  of  Faust,  and  finally,  when  he 
finds  his  victim  in  an  opportune  mood  of  utter  despair,  ready 
to  do  anything  that  would  seem  to  promise  escape  from  the 
unbearable  discontent  gnawing  at  his  soul,  he  proposes  a 
pact,  a  written  agreement  signed  with  blood,  through  which 
Faust's  soul  is  eventually  to  come  into  his  possession. 

I  say  "eventually,"  and  thereby  indicate  the  profound 
change  which  Goethe  has  introduced  in  this  feature  of  the  old 
legend.  All  other  treatments  of  the  Faust  legend,  it  is  true, 
contained  a  pact  between  Faust  and  the  devil;  but  in  all  of 
them,  and  so  also  in  Marlow's  "Doctor  Faustus,"  the  pact 
was  of  such  a  nature  that  it  required  Mephistopheles  to 
serve  Faust  in  all  of  his  desires  for  a  fixed  number  of  years, 
generally  twenty-four,  after  the  expiration  of  which  period 
Faust's  soul  was  to  be  the  devil's.  Such  a  mechanical  de- 
vice, permitting  of  no  dramatic  conflict  and  suspense,  and 
making  the  ruin  of  a  human  soul  dependent  on  the  lapse  of 
a  fixed  number  of  years,  could  not  satisfy  Goethe,  nor  in- 
deed any  truly  modern  poet. 

The  old  pact  was  the  natural  result  of  a  mediaeval  view  of 
life,  according  to  which  every  effort  of  man  to  get  beyond 
the  limits  of  traditionally  sanctioned  knowledge  was  a  crime. 
According  to  it,  every  independent  searcher  after  truth  was 
a  heretic  and  magician,  and  every  heretic  and  magician  in  a 
league  with  the  spirit  of  evil,  speeding  along  the  road  to  ev- 
erlasting ruin.  The  eighteenth  century,  however,  was  pre- 
eminently characterized  by  the  spirit  of  free  inquiry.  No 
longer  was  it  held  to  be  a  sin,  but  rather  man's  highest  aim 
and  object  in  life,  to  search  for  the  truth  and  to  remove  false 
traditions  standing  in  the  way  of  its  light.  To  such  an  age 
Faust,  tormented  by  his  unsatisfied  yearnings  for  profounder 
knowledge,  could  no  longer  be  presented  as  an  object  lesson 
of  timid  moralizing,  by  means  of  which  men  should  be  im- 
pressed with  the  awful  fate  awaiting  him  who  might  dare  to 


Goethe  s  " Faust."  n 

move  away  from  the  traditional  standards  of  knowledge,  no 
matter  how  worn  and  void  of  truth  they  might  happen  to  be. 
By  such  an  age  Faust's  striving  could  no  longer  be  considered 
as  in  itself  sinful,  but  rather  as  the  brightest  light  of  the  divine 
fire  burning  in. man's  soul.  Irrevocably  to  commit  him  to 
the  spirit  of  evil  as  punishment  for  this  superhuman  striving 
would  have  been  nothing  short  of  condemning  the  very  spirit 
of  progress  and  investigation  that  is  the  keynote  of  modern 
culture  and  civilization.  Faust's  error  that  was  to  bring  suf- 
fering and  wrongdoing  into  his  life,  as  into  that  of  others, 
was  not  his  striving  as  such,  but  his  excessive  striving,  that 
tried  to  disregard  all  limitations  of  human  existence. 

From  such  a  point  of  view  the  pact  between  Faust  and 
Mephistopheles  could  not  remain  the  same  as  in  the  leg- 
end: in  fact,  in  Goethe's  conception  it  has  become  almost 
the  very  opposite.  In  the  old  legend,  it  was  Faust's  striving 
that  condemned  him;  in  Goethe's  "Faust,"  the  ultimate  salva- 
tion of  Faust  is  made  dependent  on  his  not  ceasing  to  strive. 
If  Mephistopheles  succeeds,  by  the  pleasures  and  activities 
which  he  is  able  to  furnish,  so  to  captivate  Faust  as  to  make 
him  satisfied — ?'.  c.,  so  to  suppress  his  better  nature  that  he 
will  cease  to  strive  after  the  highest  things  attainable  to  man 
—then,  but  not  until  then,  is  he  to  belong  to  Mephistopheles. 
No  individual  error  will  condemn  Faust,  nor,  indeed,  will 
any  individual  act  save  him:  but  everything  will  depend  upon 
the  spirit  underlying  his  actions.  Such  is  the  Goethean  form 
of  the  pact  between  the  two. 

FAUST. 

When  on  an  idler's  bed  I  stretch  myself  in  quiet, 

There  let  at  once  my  record  end! 

Canst  thou  with  lying  flattery  rule  me, 

Until,  self-pleased,  myself  I  see — 

Canst  thou  with  rich  enjoyment  fool  me, 

Let  that  day  he  the  last  for  me! 

The  bet  I  offer. 

MEPHISTOPHELES. 
Done! 


12  Gocthc'< 

FAUST. 

And  heartily. 
When  thus  I  hail  the  moment  flying: 

"Ah,  still  delay,  thou  art  so  fair!" 
Then  bind  me  in  thy  bonds  undying, 

My  final  ruin  then  declare! 
Then  let  the  death-bell  chime  the  token, 

Then  art  thou  from  thy  service  free! 
The  clock  may  stop,  the  hand  be  broken, 

Then  Time  be  finished  unto  me. 

Now  the  conflict  between  Mephistopheles  and  Faust's  bet- 
ter self  commences.  Henceforth  it  is  not  only  Mephistophe- 
les's  office  to  do  Faust's  bidding,  but  it  is  moreover  incum- 
bent upon  him  to  choose  those  allurements  through  which  he 
hopes  to  enslave  his  prospective  victim.  The  various  spheres 
of  experience  through  which  Faust  now  passes  form  the  cen- 
tral portion  of  the  entire  drama,  and  allow  us  to  distinguish 
five  distinct  stages:  (i)  the  sphere  of  coarse  revelry,  rep- 
resented by  the  drinking  scene  in  Auerbach's  "Keller;"  (2) 
the  sphere  of  womanly  love,  represented  by  the  tragedy  of 
Gretchen;  (3)  the  sphere  of  restless  but  as  yet  rather  pur- 
poseless activity  in  the  circles  of  worldly  power  and  social 
distinction,  represented  by  the  scene  at  the  emperor's  court 
in  the  first  act  in  the  Second  Part;  (4)  the  sphere  of  his- 
torical and  aesthetic  pursuits,  represented  by  the  classical 
Walpurgis  Night  and  the  Helena  drama;  (5)  the  sphere  of 
practical  usefulness,  resting  on  ethical  and  unselfish  mo- 
tives, represented  by  Faust's  noble  effort  to  wrest  land  from 
the  sea  and  to  make  it  the  abode  of  a  free  and  happy  peo- 
ple. After  that  follow  the  concluding  scenes  of  the  Second 
Part  that  depict  the  struggle  of  devilish  and  angelic  hosts 
for  Faust's  soul,  and  its  final  entrance  into  heaven. 

Even  this  brief  enumeration  of  the  five  principal  stages  of 
the  action — one  might  well  call  them  the  five  acts  of  a  vast 
dramatic  composition — establishes,  or  at  least  suggests,  one 
important  fact.  The  spheres  in  which  we  encounter  Faust 
and  Mephistopheles  represent  an  ascending  scale,  if  judged 
r>om  the  standpoint  of  their  intrinsic  value  to  human  life. 


Goethe's  " Faust .''  13 

The  first  stage,  the  scene  in  Atierbach's  "Keller,"  exhibits  a 
wanton  waste  of  human  energy;  while  the  last  scene,  by  the 
seashore,  represents  one  of  the  highest  aims  of  human  life: 
unceasing,  well-defined  activity  aiming  to  produce,  within 
the  limits  of  what  is  feasible,  the  greatest  possible  good  to 
multitudes  of  others.  From  this  it  further  follows  that,  while 
at  first  the  influence  of  Mephistopheles  over  Faust  is  increas- 
ing and  leads  the  latter  deeper  and  deeper  into  sin,  with  the 
beginning  of  the  Second  Part,  however,  Mephistopheles's 
influence  commences  to  wane.  He  still  must  do  Faust's  bid- 
ding, but  the  latter  more  and  more  assumes  the  leadership, 
and  suggests  the  aims  of  their  joint  activity. 

Let  us  now  examine  somewhat  more  in  detail  the  five  prin- 
cipal stages,  or  episodes,  of  the  drama,  and  in  so  doing,  we 
shall  especially  try  to  determine  in  what  spirit  Faust  enters 
upon  each  of  these  typical  spheres  of  experience  and  in  what 
spirit  he  again  emerges  from  each  of  them.  After  the  pact 
has  been  made,  Mephistopheles,  in  answer  to  Faust's  ques- 
tion, "Now,  whither  shall  we  go?"  replies:  "As  best  it 
pleases  thee.  The  little  world,  and  then  the  great,  we'll 
see."  This  programme  is  strictly  carried  out.  The  first 
two  episodes — the  student's  scene  in  the  wine  vault,  as  well 
as  the  entire  Gretchen  drama — constitute  the  experiences  in 
the  narrower  world  of  personal  relations;  the  last  three — the 
scenes  at  court,  the  Helena  drama,  and  the  active  life  at  the 
seashore — constitute  the  experiences  of  the  broader  world  of 
activity  in  government,  art  and  science,  and  cultural  labor. 
Mephistopheles  of  course  begins  at  the  bottom  round  of  the 
ladder.  He  would  fain  win  Faust  at  the  lowest  price,  with 
the  least  outlay  of  exertion  on  his  part.  He,  therefore,  first 
tries  to  lure  him  into  a  life  of  vulgar  and  soulless  revelry. 
But  it  is  characteristic  that  during  the  entire  scene  in  Auer- 
bach's  "Keller"  Faust  remains  a  passive  spectator.  He  speaks 
only  twice,  first,  on  joining  the  company,  "Fair  greeting, 
gentlemen !"  and  not  very  much  later,  "To  leave  them  is 
my  inclination."  The  first  attempt  of  Mephistopheles  has 
been  a  flat  failure.  Far  from  satisfying  Faust,  he  has  not 
even  succeeded  in  interesting  him. 


14  Goethe's.  " Faust." 

His  next  scheme  is  more  deeply  laid.  Faust's  sensual  na- 
ture, that  has  been  utterly  neglected  in  his  previous  life,  is 
skillfully  aroused  by  Mephistopheles  in  the  scene  in  the 
witch's  kitchen,  so  that  when  he  first  meets  pure  and  lovely 
Gretchen,  he,  as  Mephistopheles  himself  says, 

talks  like  Jack  Rake, 

Who  every  flower  for  himself  would  take, 
And  fancies  there  are  no  favors  more, 
Nor  honors,  save  for  him,  in  store. 

He  brutally  says: 

And  if  that  image  of  delight 

Rest  not  within  mine  arms  to-night, 

At  midnight  is  our  contract  broken. 

Mephistopheles  has  a  good  chance  for  success  this  time. 
But  his  purpose  is  again  to  be  foiled.  According  to  his 
plan,  Faust  is  henceforth  to  lead  the  life  of  a  libertine,  whom 
he  will  drag  through  dust  and  mire  from  one  victim  to  an- 
other. 

The  Gretchen  tragedy  is  undoubtedly  not  only  the  most 
powerful  part  of  the  Faust  drama,  but  to  the  great  majority 
of  readers  it  even  is  the  real  center  of  interest,  that  which 
"Faust"  first  suggests  and  stands  for.  The  exquisite  delicacy 
of  some  of  its  opening  scenes,  as  well  as  the  terrible  pathos 
of  its  final  catastrophe,  of  which  an  English  critic  has  said 
that,  its  tragic  intensity  has  never  been  paralleled  and  can 
never  be  exceeded,  make  it  a  complete  drama  in  itself,  the 
interst  in  which  has  induced  the  poet  to  develop  it  far  be- 
yond the  proportions  which  it  should  have  as  only  one  of  the 
episodes  of  the  larger  drama.  The  chief  point  of  interest 
from  our  present  point  of  view  is  the  consummate  skill  with 
which  the  poet  makes  Gretchen's  purity  and  loveliness  trans- 
form Faust's  libertinism  into  truly  impassioned  love,  much 
to  Mephistopheles's  dismay,  who  again  sees  his  prey  slipping 
from  his  hand.  This  change  of  sentiment  on  the  part  of 
Faust  does  not  save  Gretchen,  but,  in  a  sense,  it  does  save 
Faust,  at  least  from  immediate  ruin.  When  Faust's  true 
love  for  Gretchen  awakens,  he  flees  from  her,  for  he  sees 


Goethe's  "Faust"  15 

and  knows  that,  with  all  his  love  for  her  and  hers  for  him,  he 
is  utterly  unable  to  procure  her  that  happiness  which  she  de- 
serves. The  chasm  between  the  two  is  too  great  to  be 
bridged  over,  even  by  love.  Faust  says  of  himself: 

I  am  the  fugitive,  all  houseless  roaming, 

The  monster  without  aim  or  rest, 
That  like  a  cataract,  down  rocks  and  gorges  foaming, 

Leaps,  maddened,  into  the  abyss's  breast! 
And  sidewards  she,  with  young,  un wakened  senses, 

Within  her  cabin  on  the  Alpine  field. 

But  Mephistopheles,  who,  in  his  blind  eagerness,  cannot 
give  up  his  game  as  lost,  succeeds  again  in  lulling  Faust's 
conscience  to  rest.  Faust  returns  to  Gretchen,  and  an  awful 
vista  of  sin  engendering  sin  opens  before  our  eyes.  Gretch- 
en, all  confidence  and  love,  falls.  Her  mother  dies  from  the 
effects  of  the  sleeping  draught  administered  to  her.  Gretch- 
en's  brother  attacks  his  sister's  lover,  and,  in  the  ensuing 
combat,  is  killed.  Faust  must  flee  to  escape  the  hands  of 
justice,  while  Gretchen,  crazed  with  the  awful  consciousness 
of  her  sin,  drowns  her  child  and  is  cast  into  prison.  These 
awful  results  of  his  first  wrong  plunge  Faust  deeper  and 
deeper  into  sin,  but  at  the  same  time  reawaken  his  con- 
science and  the  determination  to  right  his  wrong  as  much  as 
possible,  even  though  it  be  at  the  risk  of  life  and  liberty. 
Thus  a  spiritual  disposition  is  engendered  in  Faust,  which  is 
far  from  the  one  which  Mephistopheles  desired  to  produce, 
in  fact  a  state  of  soul  that  must  needs  help  a  man,  in  whom 
all  good  has  not  died  out,  to  regain  "the  right  road,"  from 
which  he  has  strayed.  Mephistopheles  has  again  failed. 
Faust  comes  out  of  this  awful  experience  heavily  laden  with 
guilt,  but  unquestionably  a  better  man  than  when  he  first  saw 
Gretchen. 

Here  ends  the  First  Part,  and  even  from  this  brief  out- 
line it  must  be  apparent  that  the  drama  could  not  possibly 
end  here,  where  most  readers  drop  it.  We  are  in  the  midst 
of  a  conflict,  not  at  its  end.  If  it  were  the  real  ending,  only 
one  of  two  issues  is  possible.  Either  Faust  has  won.  But 
this,  despite  all  of  his  repentance,  is  not  to  be  thought  of 


/6  Goethe's  "Faust" 

while  he  is  still  in  the  very  midst  of  the  awful  consequences 
of  his  wrongdoings.  Or  Mephistopheles  has  won.  Then 
"the  Lord"  has  lost,  and  the  spirit  of  the  drama  would  be 
a  pessimism  too  terrible  to  think  out  to  its  last  consequences. 
It  needs  no  proof  that  Goethe,  the  serene  optimist,  could 
never  have  considered  such  a  solution.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  division  between  Parts  I.  and  II.  is  merely  acci- 
dental and  outward,  not  essential  or  organic.  Only  the  sec- 
ond act  of  the  vast  five-act  drama  has  closed;  the  third  act 
begins  with  the  Second  Part. 

In  tracing  the  hero's  career  through  the  Second  Part,  I 
shall  endeavor  to  give  a  brief  running  account  of  the  prin- 
cipal events  themselves,  for  I  cannot  presuppose  for  it  the 
same  general  acquaintance  with  the  story  of  the  plot  as 
everybody  possesses  for  the  First  Part.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Second  Part,  about  twice  as  long  as  the  first,  teems  with 
such  a  mass  of  detail  that  only  the  most  significant  elements 
can  be  referred  to. 

In  the  opening  scene  we  find  Ariel  and  his  elfs  minister- 
ing to  Faust,  who  lies  in  unconscious  sleep;  in  other  words, 
the  good  and  gentle  influences  of  life  gradually  heal  Faust's 
broken  spirit.  Then  the  third  great  episode  of  the  drama 
begins.  Faust  is  introduced  to  the  emperor's  court.  In 
various  scenes  we  find  him  engaged  in  a  life  of  busy  activ- 
ity. He  is  no  longer  solely  seeking  selfish  enjoyment.  He 
is  exerting  himself.  But  there  is  a  lack  of  purpose  and 
conviction  in  all  of  his  doing.  According  to  a  distinction 
dear  to  Goethe,  Faust  appears  now  gcscakftig)  and  not  thd- 
tig — i.  e.,  busy  but  not  truly  active.  He  resembles  a  man 
who  delights  in  using  his  powers  and  testing  his  strength, 
but  who  is  not  sufficiently  clarified  in  his  purposes  to  devote 
his  energies  to  the  service  of  high  and  worthy  ideals.  In 
fact,  Faust  still  allows  Mephistopheles  to  conduct  matters 
pretty  much  as  he  pleases,  and  Mephistopheles  sees  to  it 
that  the  activities  in  which  they  engage  shall  ultimately  re- 
sr.lt  in  harm,  or,  at  least,  be  of  no  value. 

The  scenes  of  court  life,  relating  to  government  and  to  pleas- 
ure, are  varied  and  full  of  life,  but  only  one  fact  is  of  spe- 


Goethe's  "Faust"  17 

cial  significance  for  the  further  development  of  the  plot. 
The  emperor  has  heard  of,  and  during  some  carnival  fes- 
tivities has  himself  experienced,  Faust's  magic  skill.  As  a 
supreme  test  he  therefore  asks  that  Faust  conjure  up,  for 
the  court's  entertainment,  the  shades  of  Paris  and  of  Helen. 
Mephistopheles,  when  asked  by  Faust  for  assistance,  must 
admit  that,  as  the  devil  of  northern  cloudlands,  he  possesses 
no  power  over  the  sunny  forms  of  southern  climes.  The 
beautiful  cannot  be  the  sphere  of  the  spirit  of  evil  and  mean- 
ness, for  Goethe  firmly  believed  in  the  ennobling  and  up- 
lifting influences  of  the  beautiful.  Thus  Faust  is  forced  to 
act  for  himself,  independently,  and  he  undertakes  the  enter- 
prise, even  though  at  the  risk  of  losing  his  life  in  it. 

Here,  I  believe,  lies  the  turning  point  in  the  drama  consid- 
ered as  a  whole.  So  far  Mephistopheles  has  suggested 
what  has  been  undertaken;  this  time  the  suggestion  comes 
from  a  neutral  source,  the  emperor;  henceforth  it  will  be 
Faust  himself  who  will  set  up  his  own  goal  for  his  activity. 
Thus  far  Mephistopheles  has  accomplished  everything,  in- 
viting Faust  merely  to  passive  enjoyment;  this  time,  howev- 
er, Faust  acts  without  Mephistopheles;  soon  we  shall  see 
Mephistopheles  forced  to  employ  his  energies  in  pursuance 
of  Faust's  self-chosen  aims. 

Paris  and  Helen  appear  as  shades,  and  are  admired  and 
criticised  by  the  court  in  a  soulless  manner.  Only  Faust  is 
really  struck  with  the  sublimity  of  Helen's  beauty,  so  much, 
in  fact,  that  during  the  next,  the  fourth,  episode  the  effort 
to  win  her  becomes  the  controlling  influence  of  his  life — i.  e., 
he  enters  the  sign  of  the  aesthetic  ideal.  For  his  search  for 
Helen,  and  his  final  wooing  and  wedding  of  her,  we  must 
not  interpret  as  a  return  to  the  sphere  of  sexual  love,  as  por- 
trayed in  the  Gretchen  tragedy.  Helen,  in  our  drama,  is 
not  so  much  the  ideally  beautiful  Grecian,  as  rather  the 
Grecian  ideal  of  beauty  in  art  and  life,  and  thus,  in  a  meas- 
ure, an  incarnation  of  some  of  the  highest  human  achieve- 
ments of  the  past.  In  search  of  it  and  in  communion  with  it, 
Faust  is  therefore  actuated  by  a  truly  lofty  and  noble  aim 
in  life,  although  not  yet  by  the  loftiest  and  noblest. 


i8  Goethe 's  "Faust" 

Two  of  the  most  famous  and,  in  many  respects,  most 
beautiful  portions  of  the  Second  Part  are  devoted  to  the  por- 
trayal of  the  sphere  into  which  we  have  now  entered — namely, 
the  so-called  classical  Walpurgis  Night,  and  the  Helena 
drama  proper. 

The  classical  Walpurgis  Night  has  been  developed  as  an 
elaborate  Grecian  counterpart  of  the  mythical  Walpurgis 
Night  festival  on  top  of  the  Brocken  mountain,  as  it  is  por- 
trayed in  the  First  Part.  The  invention  as  a  whole,  is 
Goethe's,  while  the  various  elements  of  it  have  been  freely 
taken  from  old  Grecian  fables  and  myths.  The  under- 
standing and  appreciation  of  the  whole  requires  a  fairly  ex- 
tensive familiarity  with  even  minor  and  remote,  details  of 
Grecian  folklore  so  that  for  most  readers  an  intelligent 
study  of  at  least  this  portion  of  the  Second  Part  is  impos- 
sible without  a  running  commentary.  The  scene  has  been 
developed  to  its  present  proportions  largely  for  its  own  sake 
and  interest,  but  its  organic  relation  to  what  precedes  and 
follows  is  distinct.  Faust,  haunted  by  the  picture  of  Helen, 
is  bent  upon  finding  means  for  winning  her  back  from  Hades, 
and  information  as  to  the  most  efficacious  mode  of  procedure 
might  be  gathered  at  this  annual  spirit-reunion  on  the  plain 
of  Pharsalus,  in  Thessaly.  For  here,  where  in  48  B.C.  the 
famous  battle  between  Caesar  and  Pompey  was  fought,  the 
memory  of  this  epoch-making  event  is  renewed  annually  (so 
Goethe  will  have  us  believe)  by  a  gathering  of  spirits  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  battlefield  during  the  night  following 
the  anniversary  of  the  battle.  It  certainly  is  a  supersti- 
tion of  the  folklore  of  many  peoples  that  great  and  decisive 
battles,  as,  e.  g-.,  the  battle  of  Marathon  between  the  Athe- 
nians and  Persians,  and  the  battle  of  the  Romans  and  Ger- 
mans against  the  Huns  on  the  Catalaunian  Plain,  were  each 
year  fought  over  and  over  again  by  spirits  in  the  air.  Since 
thus  on  the  Pharsalian  battlefield  all  of  the  principal  charac- 
ters of  Greek  legend  are  going  to  assemble,  Faust  hopes  to 
be  able  to  find  among  them  some  news  of  Helen.  And,  in- 
deed, after  a  series  of  inquiries  and  varied  adventures,  the 
famous  sorceress,  Manto,  ultimately  shows  Faust  the  entrance 


Goethe's  "Faust"  19 

to  the  lower  world  beneath  Mount  Olympus,  where  he  is  to 
plead  with  Persephone  for  Helen's  return  to  the  upper  re- 
gions. A  noble  scene,  which  was  to  depict  Faust's  expe- 
rience in  Hades,  and  thus  was  to  form  the  connecting  link 
between  the  classical  Walpurgis  Night  and  the  Helena 
drama  proper,  the  poet  unfortunately  never  wrote.  At  any 
rate,  Faust's  suit  must  be  supposed  to  have  been  successful, 
for  in  the  third  act  Helen  appears  in  the  world  of  man. 

The  scene  shifts  to  Sparta,  to  a  place  in  front  of  the  pal- 
ace of  Menelaus.  He^en  herself,  surrounded  by  her  reti- 
nue of  Spartan  women,  imagines  that  she  is  just  returning 
home  from  Troy,  sent  ahead  by  her  husband  to  make  all 
necessary  preparations  for  an  elaborate  sacrifice.  Mephis- 
topheles  appears,  disguised  in  the  ugly  shape  of  one  of  the 
Graiae  or  Phorcyads,  the  three  sisters  dwelling  in  utter  dark- 
ness and  possessing  only  one  eye  and  one  tooth  in  common, 
who  to  the  Greek  imagination  were  the  acme  of  everything 
horrible  and  repulsive.  This  form  he,  the  lover  of  every- 
thing ugly,  has  borrowed  from  the  Phorcyads  during  the  clas- 
sical Walpurgis  Night,  while  his  victim,  Faust,  hardly  his  vic- 
tim any  longer,  has  been  in  search  of  the  sublime  beauty  of 
Helen.  Mephistopheles  pretends  to  be  an  old  stewardess  at 
Menelaus's  palace,  and  tells  Helen  that  she  herself  is  to  be  the 
victim  to  be  slain  at  the  sacrifice,  for  which  her  enraged  hus- 
band has  ordered  her  to  prepare.  But  he  promises  her  easy 
delivery  from  certain  death  if  she  will  but  place  herself  un- 
der the  protection  of  his  master,  who,  during  Menelaus's  ab- 
sence, has  acquired  power  and  land  in  the  mountain  districts 
to  the  north.  Helen,  thoroughly  frightened,  gives  her  con- 
sent, and,  by  magic,  she  is  transported  to  Faust's  strong- 
hold, which  is  represented  as  a  Gothic  castle  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  Faust  greets  her  with  profound  respect  and  admira- 
tion, offers  his  protection,  and  wins  her  love.  The  offspring 
of  this  union  of  Faust  and  Helen  is  a  supernatural  child, 
Euphorion,  who,  driven  by  his  ethereal  nature,  tries  by  all 
means  to  rise  above  the  level  of  his  surroundings,  climbing 
and  flying  upwards,  but  suddenly  falling  dead  at  his  parents' 
feet.  In  the  figure  of  Euphorion  Goethe  offered  a  delicate 


20  Goethe's  "Faust" 

tribute  to  the  memory  of  Lord  Byron,  whose  premature 
death  at  Missolonghi  had  occurred  but  shortly  before  the 
time  when  the  Helena  drama  was  elaborated,  and  whose  po- 
etic genius  Goethe  greatly  admired.  Euphorion,  dying,  en- 
treats Helen  not  to  leave  him  alone  in  the  realm  of  darkness. 
She,  irresistibly  drawn  on  by  her  son's  prayer,  vanishes, 
leaving  Faust  again  alone. 

This  time  Faust  has  enjoyed  true  happiness,  the  recollec- 
tion of  which  is  free  from  the  sting  of  remorse.  But  even 
it,  being  only  temporary,  did  not  furnish  a  lasting  and  never- 
failing  source  of  satisfaction. 

But  before  we,  like  Faust,  leave  the  sphere  of  the  aesthetic 
ideal,  I  should  like  to  call  attention  to  one  more  feature  of 
this  portion  of  the  drama,  which  evidently  is  symbolic  and 
largely  even  allegorical  in  its  nature,  and  severely  taxes  the 
imagination  of  even  the  most  willing  and  best-prepared 
reader. 

Aside  from  the  personal  compliment  to  Byron,  the  figure 
of  Euphorion,  more  broadly  interpreted,  would  seem  to  rep- 
resent modern  romanticism  in  general.  As  Euphorion  is 
the  offspring  of  the  Helen  of  the  ancients  and  of  Faust,  who, 
in  these  scenes,  appears  as  one  of  those  baronial  knights  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  who  actually  established  themselves  in  va- 
rious parts  of  Greece  in  connection  with  the  fourth  crusade 
of  1202,  so  was  modern  romanticism,  in  some  measure,  the 
result  of  a  fusion  of  the  spirit  of  ancient  and  Renaissance  art 
with  the  spirit  of  the  romantic  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Thus  understood,  the  poet's  plan  seems  to  have  been  to  place 
before  us  a  kaleidoscopic  vision  of  the  whole  development 
of  the  art  and  culture  of  the  past,  from  the  days  of  the  glory 
of  Greek  art  down  to  the  poet's  own  time. 

Such  a  plan  is  probably  too  bold  and  vast  for  artistic  treat- 
ment, especially  for  treatment  in  dramatic  form.  To  admit, 
therefore,  that  from  an  artistic  standpoint,  Goethe's  treat- 
ment of  it  is  hardly  quite  satisfactory  is  no  serious  reproach 
on  his  poetic  genius.  Like  Faust  himself,  he  seems  to  have 
attempted  the  impossible.  But  the  attempt  itself  should  not 
be  ascribed  to  a  wanton  desire  of  doing  something  perhaps 


Goethe's  "Faust"  21 

never  attempted  before ;  for  it  is  a  necessary  and  logical  part 
of  the  whole  plan.  If  Faust  is  to  exhaust  all  the  experiences 
of  man,  the  question  had  to  be  answered  whether  there  was 
not,  perhaps,  something  in  the  achievements  of  the  past  tha* 
could  have  granted  the  longed-for  satisfaction.  The  poet's 
answer  to  this  quest  is  a  negative  one.  The  past,  no  matter 
how  beautiful,  cannot  be  the  fulfillment  of  the  needs  and  de- 
sires of  the  present.  It  can  and  should  furnish  stimulants 
and  materials  toward  the  mastery  of  the  problems  of  the 
present,  but  it  cannot  itself  offer  their  solution. 

And  so  we  follow  Faust  to  the  last  sphere  of  his  experi- 
ence. Carried  back  from  Greece  to  Germany  on  their 
magic  cloak,  Faust  and  Mephistopheles  pass  over  plains, 
rivers,  and  seas.  When  Mephistopheles  asks  whether,  in  all 
they  have  seen,  there  was  nothing  that  evoked  in  Faust  the 
desire  to  devote  his  energies  to  it,  the  latter,  remembering 
the  sight  of  the  waves  of  the  sea  lashing  a  waste  and  deso- 
late shore,  exclaims: 

FAUST. 

The  sea  sweeps  on,  in  thousand  quarters  flowing, 

Itself  unfruitful,  barrenness  bestowing  ; 

It  breaks  and  swells,  and  rolls,  and  overwhelms 

The  desert  stretch  of  desolated  realms. 

There  endless  waves  hold  sway,  in  strength  erected 

And  then  withdrawn — and  nothing  is  effected. 

If  aught  could  drive  me  to  despair,  'twere,  truly,       , 

The  aimless  force  of  elements  unruly. 

Then  dared  my  mind  its  dreams  to  over-soar : 

Here  would  I  fight — subdue  this  fierce  uproar ! 

And  possible  'tis! — Howe'er  the  tides  may  fill, 

They  gently  foam  around  the  steadfast  hill ; 

A  moderate  height  resists  and  drives  asunder, 

A  moderate  depth  allures  and  leads  them  on, 

So,  swiftly,  plans  within  my  mind  were  drawn  : 

Let  that  high  joy  be  mine  for  evermore, 

To  shut  the  lordly  Ocean  from  the  shore, 

The  watery  waste  to  limit  and  to  bar, 

And  push  it  back  upon  itself  afar ! 

From  step  to  step  I  settled  how  to  fight  it : 

Such  is  my  wish  :  dare  thou  to  expedite  it ! 


22  Goethe's  "Faust" 

Mephistopheles  is  willing,  for  the  terms  of  the  pact  de- 
mand that  he  should  be.  As  a  reward  for  valuable  assist- 
ance which  they  render  the  emperor  in  his  war  against  a 
powerful  rival,  Faust  receives  the  desolate  and  undesirable 
seashore  as  a  fief.  Here  he  spends  the  rest  of  his  life, 
building  dikes,  digging  canals,  constructing  harbors,  send- 
ing out  his  ships  over  all  the  seas.  Constantly  he  fights 
against  the  renewed  encroachments  of  the  water,  and  there- 
by turns  a  useless,  uninhabited  stretch  of  land  into  a  culti- 
vated district,  a  fit  abode  for  free  and  labor-loving  men  to 
live  and  prosper  in.  He  has  at  last  discovered  the  blessing 
that  dwells  in  strenuous  exertion  and  unceasing  labor,  pro- 
vided it  be  prompted  by  noble  motives  and  directed  toward 
worthy  ends.  He  no  longer  labors  for  himself  alone;  he 
works  for  the  benefit  of  others,  and  therein  seeks  and  finds 
his  owrn  joy  and  prosperity.  He  creates  values  where  before 
him  there  were  none;  he  carries  the  stir  of  human  labor  and 
the  voices  of  human  joy  and  human  sorrow  into  places  filled 
before  by  the  monotonous  roar  of  the  unfeeling  elements. 
The  over-exalted  dreamer  and  reckless  and  regardless  ego- 
tist has  changed  at  last  into  a  culture  hero,  who  has  experi- 
enced the  saving  grace  of  strenuous  devotion  to  duty  in  the 
service  of  mankind. 

Finally,  in  this  unceasing  but  serene  activity  in  the  interests 
of  human  culture  and  progress,  in  his  watchful  care  not  only 
for  the  welfare  of  his  fellow-men,  but  even  of  coming  gen- 
erations, Faust  seems  to  have  found  that  continued  peace 
of  soul  for  which  he  has  been  yearning  so  long,  and  which 
nothing  else  had  been  able  to  furnish  him.  It  is  true,  he  is 
blind,  bowed  down  by  care  and  extreme  old  age;  but  he  is 
none  the  less  eagerly  bent  on  performing  the  duties  of  each 
day.  Thus  he  much  reminds  us  of  the  poet  himself,  who 
penned  the  last  lines  of  the  drama  as  an  octogenarian,  and 
was  not  willing  to  pause  or  rest  until  this  supreme  work  of 
his  life  should  be  completed. 

In  this  spirit  Faust  exclaims: 

Yea,  to  this  thought  I  cling,  with  virtue  rife, 
Wisdom's  last  fruit,  profoundly  true: 


Goethe's  "Faust"  23 

Freedom  alone  he  earns  as  well  as  life, 

Who  day  by  day  must  conquer  them  anew. 

His  ideal  striving  has  not  left  him  to  the  last.  For  even 
now  it  is  not  so  much  the  pleasure  at  what  he  has  already 
achieved,  as  rather  the  anticipation  of  what  he  still  hopes  to 
accomplish  in  the  future,  that  makes  him  say: 

Then  to  the  moment  might  I  say  : 
Linger  awhile,  thou  art  so  fair. 

With  such  words  on  his  lips  and  such  thoughts  in  his  soul, 
he  dies,  clear  in  his  conception  of  his  relation  to  the  world, 
sure  of  his  purpose,  pure  in  his  motives,  a  redeemed  man. 

He  professes  no  creed,  but  his  convictions  are  borne  by 
the  loftiest  principles.  But,  even  though  in  anticipation  of 
still  greater  bliss  in  the  future,  he  has  spoken  the  fatal 
word  to  the  fleeting  moment:  "Linger  awhile,  thou  art  so 
fair."  So,  technically,  mechanically,  Mephistopheles  might 
claim,  and  does  claim,  to  have  won  his  wager.  But  the  an- 
gelic hosts  that  come  to  carry  Faust's  soul  into  eternity  con- 
vince him,  despite  his  impotent  rage,  that  he  is  deceived. 
Nothing  that  he  has  given  Faust  causes  the  latter  to  speak 
the  important  words.  Faust  has  won  the  wager.  He  is 
saved. 

In  the  last  act  of  the  drama  one  more  point  might  demand 
some  elucidation.  Mephistopheles  to  the  last  remains  in 
Faust's  company,  who  even  uses  him  for  the  consummation 
of  his  high  purposes.  To  a  mediaeval  mind  this  fact  alone 
would  even  to  the  last  condemn  Faust  as  ensnared  in  sin. 
This,  however,  is  far  from  Goethe's  much  profounder  con- 
ception of  the  relation  between  the  two.  Even  though  Meph- 
istopheles represents  the  coarser,  more  vulgar  tendencies 
of  human  nature,  he  still  represents  energy.  This  fdrce  is 
not  to  be  thrown  aside,  not  to  be  destroyed;  it  is  to  be  sub- 
dued, to  be  forced  to  do  the  bidding  of  the  higher  spiritual 
nature.  That,  according  to  Goethe,  is  the  true  solution  of 
the  conflict  each  man  is  waging.  When,  at  the  end  of  his 
career,  Faust,  though  unintentionally,  causes  the  death  of  the 


24  Goethe's  "Faust" 

good  old  couple,  Philemon  and  Baucis,  and  the  destruction 
of  their  property,  I  believe  the  poet  does  not  only  wish  to 
emphasize  the  fact  that  the  individual  must  not  stand  in  the 
way  of  the  common  progress  and  benefit,  but  rather  to  show 
that  the  subjugation  of  our  lower  impulses  is  never  com- 
pletely accomplished.  Even  with  the  wisest  and  best  of  men 
their  coarser  instincts  will  occasionally  escape  the  control  of 
their  higher  nature.  Again,  it  is  not  the  individual  act  that 
condemns  or  saves,  but  rather  the  spirit  from  which  the  deed 
flows,  that  adds  to  our  credit  or  guilt.  Of  this  the  chorus 
of  angels  assure  us  as  they  carry  Faust's  immortal  part  aloft: 

The  noble  spirit  now  is  free, 

And  saved  from  evil  scheming  : 

Whoe'er  aspires  unweariedly 
Is  not  beyond  redeeming. 


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